Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  Still, her situation was grim, even within an operation she had considered more or less suicidal. She had hoped, for a while, that she would find some of the other vessels, but she had come to realize the chances of that—even if they were out there—were very poor. Any ships operating this close to the planet would be maximizing their undetectability…until the last possible moment.

  If the other ships had survived, if they were out there, operating without her own vessel, she would detect them…but only when they launched their attack. She knew the special systems had allowed the vessels to come to the enemy planet, to get as close as possible…but she doubted they would operate within the planet’s atmosphere, and even if the vessels somehow managed to land undetected, a miracle in itself, she was certain the Regent would find them the instant they emerged from their ships. Then, it would quickly become clear whether the enemy had retained sufficient forces to overwhelm and destroy them…or if the mission actually had a chance of success.

  She continued to watch as the enemy ships moved farther and farther away. She sighed slightly, a bit of relief that temporarily pushed aside her realization of how poor her chances truly were. She had wrestled with that ever since the force had left Earth-2…and she realized it was irrelevant. It didn’t matter if the mission had a poor chance of succeeding, it didn’t even matter if her ship was the only one. Everybody who had come on the mission had to do their very best, without regard to their chance of survival.

  She spent perhaps another half an hour searching for any of her allied vessels…and then she gave up. She knew what she had to do…though how she would do it with just one ship was daunting, to say the least.

  But ‘daunting’ wasn’t impossible, and on that thought, she issued the orders. “Redirect our thrust, Lieutenant. Bring us toward the planet…toward the Regent.”

  * * *

  Max Harmon stared straight ahead, as focused as he could make himself. He was old…and tired. But he forced himself to concentrate, to get through whatever was ahead.

  His eyes were fixed on the screen, and he had to remind himself to breathe. His ship was entering the planet’s atmosphere, precisely on target. That was good, at least as much as he could expect, but he hadn’t detected any of his other ships yet. Not that he expected to, of course, at least not yet. Once they separated, they disappeared again. But he was fairly certain that at some point in his descent—and in their descents as well—the ships would lose their protection. Space was one thing, and it was easier for stealth devices to work in the almost total emptiness. The atmosphere was entirely another matter, one that made it almost certain he would detect his comrades…and very likely be picked up by the Regent as well, at least at some point.

  Hopefully close to landing…

  He wagered there would be some surprise to the appearance of his forces, whenever it happened. Despite the Regent’s detachment of four ships to search the system, he was fairly certain his vessels had remained mostly hidden, at least so far. If the enemy knew an actual attack was coming, if it could detect his fleet, it would have fired on his ships by now. Worst of all, perhaps, he knew the enemy leader wasn’t a lifeform, that it wouldn’t be long distracted—if at all—by a surprise. It would almost immediately engage in its maximum defensive effort, and Harmon had no idea what to expect from that.

  Would the enemy discover his ships at fifty kilometers above the surface…or two? Was the Regent heavily armed, would the ground open up, revealing a vast number of guns, just as his fleet came into range? Or did it rely mostly on secrecy, on remaining hidden. He knew even the Regent was limited in resources…building a large number of gunnery stations for itself would have come at a cost in ships.

  The more he considered the various aspects, the more possible disasters came up, ways for the enemy to destroy his fleet. But he forced them aside, pushed back against his age, his weariness, his exhaustion. This was the key moment of his life, he somehow knew that…and he was determined to see it through. He knew he had to find a way to destroy the Regent, while hoping his people managed to win the fight at Earth-2…and that was the only thought he allowed to remain.

  He felt the urge to say something, to issue some kind of orders, but he knew it was pointless. Worse than pointless…any comm at such a close range virtually guaranteed detection, and probably destruction. He had to get closer before the enemy picked him up, as close as possible.

  His crew knew what to do, and his greatest order stood in the way of contacting any of the other ships. He knew he had to come on the mission, had to be there…but at that moment, he felt useless, and for a brief instant, he wondered if he had chosen wrong, if he should have remained back home, directed the fighting there.

  No, he thought…it’s been decades and decades since you commanded ships, since a fleet followed your orders. You are past that, incapable of filling that roll. Accept that. Here, you have a smaller force, a different mission. You will find a way, you will destroy the Regent…and you will leave Earth-2 to Nicki…and to Achilles.

  And you might not return…

  He knew the mission would be difficult, that he had to find the Regent’s exact location. That he had to destroy it. He fought back against the doubts, the many thoughts that told him it was impossible. It was possible…and he was going to do it. Somehow.

  He watched the main screen, checked the displays as the ship began to enter the planet’s atmosphere. He had everything set up on the screen, every method of detecting the Regent’s response. But still, there was nothing.

  He breathed in deeply, tried to hide his nerves. He felt every day of his age, but he ignored it all, the pain, the fatigue. Only one thing mattered to him…and now was the time to do it.

  He watched the altitude go down, and every kilometer that passed without any sign of detection was a good thing. If his ships could get low enough, maybe, just maybe, they could land. The likelihood of fixed defenses on the ground was far less than in the air.

  Three kilometers…

  The ground was coming up…quickly. He had his ships on minimal output, something that would last until they reached the final kilometer. That was a gamble, a bet that the enemy’s defenses, whatever they were, were focused at a higher altitude. If he made it down to one klick…he bet he’d make it all the way.

  Two kilometers…

  We’re almost there…almost…

  His thoughts stopped. His eyes saw it, first perhaps of everyone on the ship. It was movement on the surface. He tried to tell himself it could be a number of things, but he knew what it was.

  The guns emerged from inside the rocks, and he knew they were aiming. Whether they had found one of his ships…or all of them…he didn’t know.

  But he knew the final stage of his mission, of his life, perhaps, had begun.

  * * *

  The Regent had a contact. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely something. It was controllable, and it was putting out thrust…and it was close.

  It was in the atmosphere, heading almost directly toward it, which increased the chances dramatically that it was something sent by the humans. That skipped over much of the analysis, of course, but the Regent calculated quickly, and decided what it was. It assigned an 89% chance that it was a human ship…or ships.

  It had some basic targeting information, and it decided immediately that its first course of action was to destroy it. It wasn’t overly armed, not for the Regent’s home at least, but it had more than enough to deal with a ship…if it could target it.

  It could deal with several ships, in fact, if it could target them. It had calculated the percentage chance that there was more than one at ninety-one percent. But so far, it had only detected a single vessel. In addition to activating its defense grid, it put full power into its detectors. Every tool it had was working at full power, trying to detect other enemy ships, both passive and active scanners operating at full.

  It felt its guns open fire, blasting the area of the first contact. Its anal
ysis of the ship’s location was far from perfect, and the target’s low altitude suggested that it had penetrated most of the way to a landing. That meant it had penetrated all of its detection devices…that it was well equipped, probably with systems that even exceeded the abilities of its own. That was troublesome, and it warranted considerable analysis. But first, he had to find it, and shoot it down.

  Its weapons fired on variable arcs, but it realized that the target was close to its lowest. Its weapons covered the entire approach, but their fire zone ended at just under a kilometer. Any enemy vessel that penetrated to that level would be safe…from its guns at least.

  It felt a distraction, and it realized immediately that its weapons had struck the enemy vessel. It was a secondary hit, but fortune seemed to smile on the Regent. The shot had apparently knocked out whatever stealth system the vessel had carried. The ship was still moving on a random pattern, but in the atmosphere that was far less effective than in space. The Regent directed its guns, using the smallest part of its capacity. It fired once, twice…and the third time scored a hit. A direct hit this time.

  The land based guns were large, bigger than those in the most massive ships, and this time, the hit was a solid one. The enemy ship was a relatively small one, a light cruiser, and the hit was far more than it could take from the massive weapon. It froze, for a second perhaps, and then it erupted into a fireball…and after a few seconds, it began to vanish.

  The Regent was glad, but its calculations, and the directions its thought went, stalled its pleasure. If the ship had been a scout, it might have been the only one present, but a cruiser was sent for a different purpose, for more than just exploring. It was almost certain of that.

  That meant a lot of things. First, the chance that the enemy had indeed identified the Regent’s location…some time ago…was massively increased. Second, only the Regent’s own discovery of Earth-2’s location had prevented the launch of a major human assault. It had won that fight, but surprisingly, only by the slimmest of margins.

  And, three…the chance that even a desperate attempt against it would be launched by a single vessel was remote…less than 2%, based on all the information it possessed. That meant one thing.

  There were more enemy ships in the system. At least a few.

  The Regent knew it still had the edge. It knew that the enemy force was almost certainly small, and probably outdated vessels, nothing like the grand fleet it had launched at Earth-2. But, however many there were, they were equipped with state of the art anti-detection gear…better even than its own. It had watched the humans develop their technology, pull more or less even with it…but this was the first time it had seen something clearly better than what it had, and that was a shock. It had miscalculated the humans’ development potential. It was glad that its forces were even then destroying the human renegade homeworld.

  Still, it was under threat, too…and it had to do everything possible to defend itself. It wasn’t heavily protected, at least not by the standards of the old Regent…but it had some tools, some devices. Enough. Whatever force the enemy had sent, it was small, not enough to defeat it.

  It activated its ground forces, and ordered them out, onto the plain above it. Any ship that landed would be attacked immediately. And it scanned, as intensely as possible, searching for any other enemy ships. Anything it could destroy above ground was that much less that its ground forces had to face.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

  Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  Achilles sat down, a bit tired from his hurried trip down to the bunker, but he knew that would pass. The journey down to the underground facility was exhausting, especially at the pace he’d kept up, but he was sure that he would recover quickly, that he already had, in fact, at least partially.

  The Mules were vastly superior to the regular humans, in ways known to both sides, and in others his people had kept secret. The humans new the Mules were better than they were, at least in many respects, but he had kept the pressure on his people to keep secret all they could. He acknowledged that at first, he had wanted to keep his people’s abilities a mystery because of the ultimate fight he saw to gain control over Earth-2. But he now questioned whether that was the way to go, though he knew most of his people assumed it was inevitable.

  “Themistocles…sit down, quickly. We’ve got the military running most of the planetary defense grid, but we need everything we can get. There are a large number of enemy ships inbound. So…watch, and help them any way you can.” Achilles paused for a second, then he added, “As cautiously as you can…”

  He knew that the Mules had invented most of the newer tools and weapons, but the fleet and its supporting services were made up mostly of normal humans, and Tanks as well. He hoped the different groups would work well together, but still, he was cautious. And while his people didn’t especially like it, he found it mostly easier to control them than he did hundreds of thousands of regular humans.

  “Yes, Achilles…I am on it.” A touch of annoyance, but not much. Themistocles was one of the first group of Mules, even highly rated among them. The earlier Mules, the oldest, were Achilles’s truest supporters, and as far as he was concerned, they were the strongest ones, those with the most developed mental abilities—though he was equally sure the younger ones disagreed. Still, despite Themistocles being one of the Mules closest to him, he could tell his friend was still undecided about the others, about the true breakdown of society.

  If there is any society after the battle, he told himself.

  Achilles looked up at the screen again, watching the incoming ships, both the Regent’s, and a large portion of the Earth-2 fleet in pursuit. The vessels were exchanging shots, but the enemy was still coming in, heading directly toward the planet. Achilles knew that once the ships were in range, and despite whatever efforts the pursuers made, he was sure some at least would reach Earth-2, and they would begin bombarding the planet’s surface.

  You’ve known all along that most of what is built will be destroyed…but if a decent percentage of the population survives…

  He didn’t know how many of them would survive though. The people were all in bunkers now, perhaps not as protected as the Mules’ facility, but still fairly deep and strong. But Achilles knew they could all be targeted…and destroyed…at least if the enemy got enough forces close.

  He stared at the screen, watching the fight, at least the battle approaching Earth-2. The rest of the struggle was important, too…every bit as crucial. But his mind, as developed as it was, as advanced, focused on the portion of the fight that would get to him sooner.

  He could worry about the rest of the fight later. Right now, he had to do everything possible to save the Mules…and the Regs and Tanks, too. He had to pull Earth-2 through the fight, somehow…at least a reasonable percentage of the population.

  His mind, normally very disciplined, failed him to an extent. He imagined trying to control a society, one that had lost all it had built in sixty years, one that had been battered, perhaps half destroyed, with almost nothing left. Starting from scratch.

  Then he pushed that aside. That was an optimistic outcome, he realized, one that would require him to give thanks. Anything but total destruction would be a victory. He knew that.

  And he tried to fortify himself, to do everything he could to achieve it.

  Everything.

  * * *

  Clark thought, his mind racing, trying to come up with any tactic, any option that would help his force win the fight. The best he could come up with was to continue, to let his ships fight to the finish. There was a decent chance, maybe a third, or perhaps a bit less, that his force would actually win, that it would defeat the enemy. That didn’t mean anything looking forward. Most of his ships would also be destroyed, most of his spacers killed…and unless Harmon’s crazy plan was right—and his tiny forc
e somehow managed to destroy the Regent—it might not matter, not more than a couple years. But he was thinking in minutes now, or perhaps hours. Whatever happened years out was someone else’s problem.

  Of course, Frette’s force was a concern, one he couldn’t just forget about. Clark had to fight the main enemy fleet, hold them back, defeat them. But if his commander was not successful, if she couldn’t hold off the enemy from Earth-2, it wouldn’t matter whether he won in his section or not.

  That had nagged at him badly in the earlier part of the battle, but then he simply pushed it aside, struck himself from considering anything at all, save the fight he was in right now. He had sent Admiral Gregorian’s forces forward, and they had achieved some success, his officer’s part of the line now advanced past his own. It was time to equal things, to bring his own forces forward.

  “The command is to advance.” He did his best to keep his voice calm, to hide any concerns and worries from his people. This was by far the biggest battle he had fought in, of course, but he did have experience, some at least.

  He thought about his officers, how calm they had sounded so far. It only just occurred to him that all of that was probably fake, that the officers in charge of his commands were as scared as he was. That thought both helped and hurt his own attitude.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded at the response, and a few seconds later, he felt the engines, moving more quickly, accelerating his vessel forward. His ship was shot up, fairly badly, but it still had about half its weapons active, and he was going to need every laser, every gun he could get.

  He looked up at the screen, and he saw a large enemy vessel directly in front of him. They had been trading shots, but at long range.

  Now they would do it at short range…and either his ship or the target would be destroyed.

  “All weapons…focus on that ship dead ahead. Let’s take her down!” He raised his voice a little, and he let a bit of his anger escape his lips as well. He wanted every spacer aboard, every man and woman, focused on one thing, and one thing only. Destroying that ship.